Prologue

Four Years Ago

B lack. It's such a fucking depressing color. It's no wonder it represents death. As I look at the sea of people here, all dressed in black, a chuckle threatens to creep up my throat.

Sean would hate this. All of it. He would have preferred a rager.

I want to go out a legend. I want people to remember me forever.

Those were the words he once stuttered out. Granted, we were both wasted at the time. But now it's all I can think about. He wanted people to remember him. He wanted a celebration of who he was. Instead, the last time a majority of these so-called mourners are even going to think about Sean is today. While we're all surrounded by a cloud of despair, a ridiculous amount of tears, and a whole lot of fucking fakeness.

I've been best friends with Sean since fucking kindergarten. Our mothers were best friends too, before Mrs. Baker ran off. Which is why I know most of these people didn't even know the guy. They're here crying, laying flowers down for a stranger.

I don't get it. Why do people feel the need to mourn someone they never bothered to say two words to when they were alive?

A small hand wraps around mine. I know who it belongs to without even looking. My body reacts to the slightest touch. Her touch. It's why I usually go out of my way to avoid her. I shouldn't be enjoying myself, the feel of her skin. Especially at a time like this, when she's grieving the loss of her brother. My best fucking friend.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Montana says, keeping her voice low. Quiet.

I squeeze her hand tighter. The pain I hear cuts right through me. I want to take it all away for her, but there's nothing I can do to fix this. "You're not supposed to do anything," I tell her. "You do whatever it is you want to do."

She looks up at me with tear-stained cheeks. "Yeah, somehow, I don't think what I want to do right now is an option."

This is where I should let go of her hand. Where I should walk away. At the very least, this is where I should take a step back. I don't do that. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her against my chest. I hold on to her tight, knowing that once I do let her go, I'm going to have to really let her go.

"I'm so fucking sorry," I whisper before kissing the top of her head.

"Me too," she says, her fingers clinging to the lapels of my jacket. "I need you to make it go away, Luke. I need to not feel like I'm losing everything that matters to me."

"You know I can't do that, Tanna. I can't," I repeat, more for myself than for her. I know what she wants. It's what we've both wanted for a long fucking time. It's what I've been denying for years. She was only sixteen when I knew that I was in love with her. Two years younger than Sean and me.

I've never acted on my feelings, out of respect for him and our friendship. I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that. I can still hear his voice in my head.

That's my little sister. Don't fucking look at her like you're a starved lion.

I pull back and drop my arms. "I'm sorry."

"You said that already." She peers up at me with a sad smile. I fucking hate it.

Reaching out, I wipe the tears from her cheeks. "You're not alone, Tanna. I'll always be here. If you need anything, call me."

She nods her head, but I know I'm going to be the last person she ever calls.

Without looking back, I walk out of the church. I can't fucking be here. It's too much. Instead, I head for the bar. The same one where we shared our first drinks together; the same one we shared our last drinks together too.

I wave the bartender over and order a Scotch. One turns into two, and then three. I don't keep track after that. Like Montana, I need an escape. I need to not feel the gaping fucking hole that's been left behind in my heart.

I didn't just lose my best friend. I also lost his sister. Because I know I can't be around her anymore. Sean's not here to catch me. He's not here to stop us from acting on our attraction, on our feelings. And I won't betray my best friend, even if that means giving up the one girl I've always loved.

When he was here, I had a reason to see her. To talk to her. I had a reason to be her friend. Because of him.

"Fuck you for dying!" I yell into my empty glass. I don't know if it's him, or the fact that I'm just that fucking drunk, but I swear the lights just flickered on and off as if he's telling me to get the fuck over it.

Truth is, I'm not sure this is something I'll ever just get over.

I find myself at a tattoo parlor after that. I had every intention of getting some sort of memorial tattooed on my skin for Sean. I wanted a phoenix with his name. Except, when I sit in the chair, that's not what I ask for. What I ask for has the artist questioning me five fucking times, making sure that I'm sure I want this on my skin forever.

Montana. The girl's already stamped herself onto my heart forever, so why not my fucking skin?